


On a Lonely Balcony

by TrackerKitsune



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, BIG 5.3 SPOILERS, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, G'raha is only mentioned, Gen, Grieving, Ingvi "Cer'vos" Oberon, Male Viera, Original Character - Freeform, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), You have been warned about the spoilers, sort of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrackerKitsune/pseuds/TrackerKitsune
Summary: Lyna gets to say goodbye, with some assistance from the Warrior of Darkness.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	On a Lonely Balcony

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning that there are spoilers for Patch 5.3 contained herein.  
> Ingvi is a male Viera. I binge wrote this at four in the morning.

“Ingvi.” The call of his name stops him dead as he’s about to leave, having handed over his precious cargo of letters to Ryne, Gaia, Runar and of course the captain standing in front of him. It wouldn’t be anyone else; Lyna is the only one with permission to call him by that particular name. “May I ask a favour of you, before you leave?”

“If it’s to take care of your grandfather, I doubt you need to ask,” Ingvi offers a tentative smile to the Viis, putting a hand on his hip. “But certainly. What do you need of me, Lyna?” It’s the least he can do for all this woman has doubtlessly put up with thanks to the stubborn miqo’te. She offers a wry smirk back.

“It is not about looking after him.” The hesitant fidgeting is unusual and reminiscent of his dear mate, and he huffs softly. 

“So…?” He prompts softly, ears dipping in concern. Her face twists with melancholy.

  
“Will you take me up to see him?” Ingvi’s ears _drop_ at that, immediately knowing what she means. It’s still a raw, stinging wound to him, knowing that the Exarch is crystallized on the balcony; alone and unable to be seen by the people he dearly adores even now. “...I apologize,” Lyna winces as she speaks, “I know that it was-”

“I’ll take you up there,” he interrupts, “do you want to bring anything? Flowers, books? Something for him?” It’s not fair that she never got to say goodbye to G’raha before he was completely gone, even with their brief chat before the mad dash up the tower to stop the coming calamity. Pushing away his own discomfort is something he does entirely willingly this once. “I’ll need you to stay close, though… I don’t know if anything else is running loose in the tower or if it’s gone back to sleep.” 

Lyna, for her part, looks thoughtful. “...He was always fond of certain flowers from the Hortorium,” she recalls slowly, gesturing for the dancer to follow. Ingvi doesn’t hesitate to do so, walking comfortably alongside her down the stairs to the vast greenhouse and watching as she picks out tiger lilies and light gerbera from the beds. No one tries to stop her under the watchful glare that the Warrior of Darkness casts around, ears still set back in the familiar position of _pissed off_. It’s frankly a wonder that he can hold the mantle like a glamour even on this needle-fine balancing point, though the coldness of his demeanour does well in repelling any well meant condolences. “If you keep that up, everyone will think you’re here to kill a man,” Lyna remarks dryly, not looking up from her task. “Believe it or not, the people of the Crystarium are not so stupid as you seem to be used to dealing with.”

“You make a good point,” Ingvi shrugs, calming himself. “I am rather used to dealing with idiots who don’t know when to leave well enough alone.” He smiles warmly at the Viis, offering her a hand up as she holds a bouquet of the flowers. “Shall we?”

The tower is eerily _silent_ , its inner workings still and sleeping once again without the presence of its caretaker. Lyna shivers as they traverse one of the many floors. “Tis so quiet… I have never heard it like this,” she comments quietly, clearly unsettled. The dancer keeps an arm around her shoulders, easing the feeling. 

“Nor have I,” he admits, ears twisting this way and that; listening for any leftover creatures that may have escaped their containment. There is nothing but dead silence and the wind howling as they finally reach the balcony of the throne room. “Here we are…” He lets Lyna go ahead, walking along slowly as he sees the scars left behind from the battle with Elidibus. _A battle with a broken, lost soul who had little else left to cling to,_ he reminds himself. _Naive like a child._

“Oh, grandfather…” The breathy gasp from Lyna draws him from his musings. He glances up from one of the burns on the crystal to see her drop the flowers at the crystalline statue’s feet, one hand covering her mouth as her eyes go wide. “To think it would take him without letting him come down to see us one last time,” she breathes, unsteady. Ingvi strides forward, catching the trembling woman gently. 

“Breathe,” he reminds her, “he cannot come down to you, but you have come to him.” Lyna takes a shuddering breath and nods, easing herself from his touch slowly. She straightens, then kneels and settles the flowers more firmly at the Exarch’s feet so they won’t be blown away.

The dancer isn’t sure how long it takes before the tears begin to fall, but the high keening wail that the captain looses into the wind is nothing but grief and loss. It wraps around his ears and squeezes his heart, leaving little other option but for him to return the cry in response. Mourning has never been undertaken alone in his home village, and he’ll be damned if he leaves his mate’s child to suffer this alone.   
Settling next to Lyna, he lets her grab at his shirt sleeve and cling to him as she cries and wails out her pain and loneliness. At first he’s hesitant to touch her ears, but when she doesn’t pull away he slowly strokes the appendages. Soft, gentle touches of fingers down the edges and the backs, soothing her by ilms until she can spare the breath to even think again. He hums gently, swaying back and forth until she rolls her eyes, flicks her ears away from his hand and pulls back. 

“Okay?” He asks quietly, watching her shake her head. 

“No,” she admits easily, eyes puffy as she wipes them with the back of her hand. Ingvi lifts his ears and hands her a handkerchief instead. “But… It will get easier, will it not? He isn’t dead, after all,” the Viis reasons after a long moment. “I have his letter waiting to be read.”   
“True,” he agrees, “but it’s still good to let the emotions out.”

“Aye, it is,” she sighs, looking up at the crystalline face of the man who had taken her in and raised her along with all his other responsibilities. “...Thank you,” she offers, after another few minutes spent in miserable silence. “It is… Strange to say goodbye to him when he isn’t even dead.”

Ingvi shrugs, “is it? I spent an hour up here after the battle, crying and screaming. It is still his physical body, even if his soul is now back in his younger body in the Source. And he’s doing well.” He smirks mirthlessly as she swats his shoulder. 

“Trust you to speak sense now,” she snarks at the Viera, the soft laugh she gets in return a soothing sound that relaxes her a little and draws her further back to herself. 

“I’ll have you know I always speak sense,” he replies with proudly forward facing ears, bouncing up onto his feet with a grace that betrays his homeland.

“Hmph. I suppose,” Lyna rolls her eyes, turning to the statue once last time and saluting it in true Crystarium fashion. “Sleep well, grandfather.” She watches with some surprise as the dancer places a gentle kiss on the cowl, caressing a cool cheek with one hand before joining her in the long climb down.


End file.
